Page 9 of Four Cards Exposed

“Here, Charlie,” Dom cooed. “It’s for you.”

Some instinct had the kitten’s head shifting towards the milk, and soon it was sucking at the rubber nipple for all it was worth, his little body shaking with the effort.

Dom’s eyes widened. “It’s working!”

They sat in silence until the little animal stopped drinking and immediately fell asleep in Dom’s arms.

“Looks like he’s in a milk coma,” James laughed. “Come on, you need to get home. Take the milk, and the kitten, but ask your mother about this tomorrow, before it goes any further. She may not want a cat, Dom.”

He didn’t bother to say, she might not be able to afford a cat.

“I’ll take care of him. I’ll find a job.”

James pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and offered it to the kid.

Dom’s eyes widened, then narrowed. He hadn’t moved to take it. “What do I need to do for this?”

James waved his hand. “I won a fight tonight,” he said gruffly, for all explanation. “Give it to your mom so she can get some milk for the kitten tomorrow, okay?”

The note disappeared in Dom’s back pocket before he was done speaking.

“Thank you.”

“Get out of here, kid. I need some sleep.”

He closed the door on the two of them, reminding himself that he couldn’t afford to get involved.

The studio Moore had provided was small—cozy, a real estate agent would say.

A dump might be a more apt description.

It wasn’t the shittiest place James had ever stayed in, but he’d spent a long time cleaning when he first arrived. Walking into the small bathroom, his gaze went automatically to the dirty tile cracks around the shower and sink area. No matter how hard he’d scrubbed, he hadn’t been able to get rid of that grime. And he’d scrubbed pretty hard because, if there was one thing James hated, that was being surrounded by dirt.

He recognized that his feelings for cleanliness and order were almost a compulsion—that other people didn’t feel the same level of satisfaction as he did when they saw a perfectly starched shirt or a brightly polished pair of shoes. But order helped him think, helped him remember that he was in control of his life, and not the other way around.

The hardest part about being undercover, other than dealing with Moore’s bullshit, was hiding this part of himself. But he had to do it, because of course Jay would have no such concerns, and the first rule of undercover work was that you became the person you were pretending to be.

Thankfully, James was almost as good at compartmentalizing as he was at fighting. It was the FBI who’d taught him the first skill. He’d arrived at the academy having already mastered the second, which he’d learned out on the streets, at an early age. James shook his head. He wasn’t going to allow himself to go there—not tonight.

He took off his T-shirt, pressing his fingers briefly against the dark bruises on his chest. The pain didn’t get worse when he breathed in, so he figured he hadn’t cracked any ribs this time around.

He stepped into the lukewarm shower, staying under the stream for as long as possible, until he had to come up for air. He grabbed the plain soap bar in the corner and built up some foam between his palms, using it to wash his hair. It was longer than James would ever choose to wear it, long enough that it curled around his ears and sometimes fell into his eyes, but again, that made sense. Jay was meant to be saving up to get out of debt—he wouldn’t be spending his hard-earned money in a barber shop.

James dried himself on the threadbare towel and got into bed, naked. He was exhausted from the fight, but also newly energized. After three months of trying to get close to Moore, things were finally moving. He could feel it.

3

* * *

Susan

“I’ll do it,” Susan said, with no preamble.

She’d been awake half the night, reading the letter exchange between Daniel Guerrero and Milena Rojas.

From his clumsy prose, she got the feeling that Guerrero wanted to help Milena, and that he didn’t mean the woman any harm. Several times, she’d had to stop herself from sympathizing with him too much—regardless of his feelings for the young woman, he was still a drug dealer and a criminal, not somebody to look up to.

She’d also known, long before she finished reading, that she was going to say yes.